


Wicked White

by MoonlitLagoon



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Arcanist WOL, Aymeric is too beautiful, Elezen Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Warrior would love to be his desk, kabedon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22384669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonlitLagoon/pseuds/MoonlitLagoon
Summary: After the events of HW, Akira finds himself falling for the charismatic Aymeric de Borel. The Warrior of Light isn't supposed to want for anything, but Aymeric isn't about to let that stop him.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light, Male Warrior of Light/Aymeric de Borel
Comments: 4
Kudos: 60





	Wicked White

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YourFirstLastKiss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourFirstLastKiss/gifts).



> A fic for my best friend, an amazing healer who is hopelessly smitten with Ser Aymeric. GET THAT ELEZEN!

Visions of an ice-blue gaze ensorcelled the Warrior of Light, body and soul. Lit him ablaze like kindling with want.

With a sigh, Akira pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to regain his composure. His arcana deck was splayed out flat before him on the oaken desk, their expertly painted images blurring into swatches of color as his mind sought another, more  _ enchanting  _ subject to admire. 

“Akira?” Alphinaud’s voice shattered his thoughts. 

The astute elezen lingered in the doorway, uncertain. 

“Forgive me for the intrusion. I merely wished to inform you that dinner is ready.” 

Akira nodded wearily, dragging a hand down his face. What he wouldn’t give for a day off. He wondered if his adversaries also longed for rest, or if they drowned themselves in their work like his Lord Commander was wont to do.

“Thank you,” he said, latching his aracana to his person.

Lately he’d begun to question whether his studies were but a false pretense for his thoughts to drift elsewhere.

On his way out the door Alphinaud asked him, “Are you alright?” 

The poor kid’s eyes were shadowed and his normally parchment-pale complexion had a sickly pallor to it. He’d been running himself ragged - they all had been even after the Dragonsong War had concluded. Yet they could ill afford to break themselves; long was the road they still had to walk.

Akira reached out and ruffled his hair proudly, imagining the man he would one day become. “You seem worse for wear than me,” he said. “Estinien will recover, don’t fret.”

A pout puffed out the boy’s cheeks, a hint of color dusting them at the mention of his idol. “I’m perfectly fine. You, on the other hand, are not.” 

He trailed after Akira down the resplendent Fortemps manor’s carpeted halls, struggling to match the Warrior of Light’s strides. For every step Akira took, the boy had to take three to keep pace. 

“I only worry you take on too much,” he continued. “It never occurred to me until but recently how little time you have to yourself. Beloved of Hyadelean though you may be, even you need your rest.”

“As do you,” the Warrior of Light teased. “You’ll never get any taller with your sleep schedule.” He glanced down meaningfully at the silver pumps fashioned for Alphinaud’s feet.

At that, the young elezen went pink all the way to the tips of his ears.

The dining room was bathed in a honey glow from the lit candles ensconced about the area, their subtle scent a sweet contrast to the hearty meal laid out before them. Tapestries and oiled paintings lined the walls, tastefully framing the Fortemps family crest hanging at the center.

“There you are!” Tataru huffed, already seated at the table. Her little legs kicked at the air with impatience. “Any longer and I might have scarfed down the entire course.”

“How does she eat so much?” Emmanellain blurted, unable to contain himself. “Where does it all go?”

Tataru shot him a smug look. “Have you never seen a Lalafell before?”

“How are we related, honestly?” Artoirel bemoaned his existence as his brother continued to gape at her with awe. 

“Apologies for the wait,” Akira told them, taking the chair beside Tataru. “How goes things at the inn?”   
  
She beamed nefariously. “Oh, quite well.”

Akira knew better than to ask whenever that look crossed her face.

Though the Warrior of Light and his companions happily partook of the Fortemps’ generosity, a weight pressed upon his shoulders each time he settled down at the table. From now on, one chair would remain empty.  Would that Haucherfant could have been saved…

As if aware of the dark turn the Warrior of Light’s thoughts had taken, Alphinaud glibly side-eyed him. “I don’t suppose your  _ studies  _ have aligned you any closer to the Temple Knight’s quarters?”

By the Twelve, Akira swore internally. He’d known the boy was observant. But this was downright mortifying.

In his stunned silence, Emmanellain cast a furtive glance between the two of them, a curious sound humming in the back of his throat. “Something catch your eye?”

Akira vowed revenge on the smirking elezen beside him. “Nothing in particular,” he lied.

Alas, Emmanellain was propelled to read too far into all matters inconsequential. “I thought your magic couldn’t let you alter fate? Unless that crazy Jannequinard was right?” He gasped at the very notion of it. “Maybe he’s not mad?”

Artoirel indolently traced one finger along the rim of his goblet, his countenance one of thinly veiled mirth.  “One can but hope you might follow the example of such a magic and walk where your stars intended,” he mused. “Lady Laniaitte’s show a much different future than yours, I should imagine.”

Emmanellain guffawed, his jaw working like a fish gasping for oxygen. His manservant, Honoroit, stifled a snort as he looked on from his post in a corner of the room. 

“Akira,” the younger Fortemps brother turned to him, “how about a reading? Fate has twined the lovely Lady and I together. I know it has.”

“If you’re certain why do you need my assistance?” He responded, earning a knowing look from Artoirel. Emmanellain had a long journey ahead of him when it came to courtship, the older brother’s expression seemed to say. 

“But what of your studies, Akira?” Alphinaud pressed him. “I’m dying to know what you’ve gleaned from the heavens.” 

Akira went rigid, knuckles bleeding white as his grip convulsed around his fork. The boy smiled serenely at him. 

“I haven’t been able to read those,” he said through a too-tight smile. “Perhaps I shall divine yours?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to interfere,” he cheekily declined.

Tataru positively trembled with glee as she polished off a spoonful of soup, enjoying the unfolding drama. 

He recalled a time when she’d gotten drunk at the Forgotten Knight and confessed to him that in her spare time she wrote rather  _ lascivious _ tales. 

“Lascivious?” he’d repeated, baffled.

Her explanation had come in the form of many sealed letters to his room a few days after, all of which were snippets of her past works. He could still remember the way his entire body flushed with heat at her vivid descriptions of sinful trysts between Temple Knights.  None of these clandestine engagements had actually happened, so far as she knew, she’d told him. But she couldn’t very well not imagine the possibilities, now could she?

The Count fixed Emmanellain with a disapproving look and cleared his throat. “Speaking of Jannequinard, how exactly does astromancy work, Akira?”

Emmanellain grumbled something unintelligible and moved his food around on his plate with his fork.

“What would you like to know?” Akira leaped at the chance to avoid Alphinaud’s inquiry.

The Count’s servant and closest friend, Firmien, appeared at his side to fill his goblet with sparkling wine. Like clockwork, he made his way around the table to top everyone’s drinks. When at last Akira’s own chalice shone with red liquid, it took all within him to quell his emotions.

This was not the Sultana’s poisoned goblet; it would not bleed onto carpets again, he resolved. He plastered a pleasant smile to his face, busying himself with answering questions rather than sharing in drinks just yet.

“Fascinating,” Count Edmont murmured at Akira’s conclusion. He elegantly cut for himself a slice of meat, lifting the silver utensil up to where it caught the candlelight. “I have not the aptitude for it myself but the theory is quite astounding.”

As conversation steered toward safer topics - anything other than Akira’s personal interests, that was - he sagged with relief. Alphinaud didn’t seem inclined to forget anytime soon however, for he smiled demurely at him, a hint of mischief in his dimples.

It had been a while since the boy had last had any fun, so Akira shook his head hopelessly and engaged animatedly with his hosts.

So engrossed in recounting some of his adventures together with his friends was he that he didn’t notice Firmien leave the room to answer a summons. Upon his return, Akira promptly found himself unable to speak like a normal elezen. 

Perhaps it was the wine, which he’d dared drink two full goblets of, or perhaps it was his exhaustion catching up to his brain. Whatever the reason, his words became a garbled jumble at the sight of none other than his Lord Commander - no,  _ the  _ Lord Commander - Aymeric de Borel. He quickly closed his mouth, teeth clacking, and tried in vain not to ogle him.

The Lord Commander was clad in a blue-accented brown alpine overcoat, reminding him of a promise kept to share a meal together in his manor. One he yearned to experience again. Aymeric’s earring caught the flicker of flame, a kiss of amber on aquamarine.

“Ser Aymeric,” Count Edmont stood from his chair to offer him a customary bow. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

Sweeping into a similarly graceful bow, Aymeric responded in that playful lilt of his. “The pleasure is all mine, though I fear I may have come at an inconvenient time.” 

A rueful smile transformed the decorated elezen into a figure of humble sincerity. 

“Nonsense,” the Count waved a hand, gesturing for him to join in the meal. 

Before the Warrior of Light had time to digest what was happening, the Lord Commander himself was seated across from him at the table. Firmien and Honoroit attended their newest guest, pouring wine and loading a heaping amount of food onto a plate for him.

A polite smile belied Aymeric’s mounting dismay as he surveyed the generous serving. The meal Akira had once shared with him consisted of a small helping of a fragrant, scrumptious salad and grilled fish. But the Lord Commander dug in nonetheless.

“This is delicious,” he told the Count. He also offered a polite smile to the servants.

Akira lost count of how often Aymeric’s gaze flicked to his, noting only that it happened frequently. Of course, most of that was due to the business he’d come to discuss. Yet he wondered all the same when those looks lingered a beat too long.

Thankfully, Aymeric’s arrival wasn’t anything of true concern: simply an update of his current position, of possible future goals and the like. He wanted Alphinaud’s insight on the matter, a sip from Tataru’s wellspring of information on any issues plaguing the people and Akira’s reassurance that he was taking care of himself.

Pretty words were the bows wrapped around problems others gave to Akira to unwrap and tie together again. For the first time in ages, the Warrior of Light had found people who saw him not as a tool to use, but rather as a friend to enjoy time with. How ironic that the majority of them should hail from a country which had once secluded itself from the rest of Eorzea.

After they finished their meal and took to the foyer, the Count drew Aymeric aside to speak with him.

Akira lingered beside his friends as they chatted among each other, chancing glances across the room whenever he could. Until he was caught. The Warrior of Light started, straightening his posture as the Lord Commander’s gaze alighted on him.

“Akira,” he said, crossing the distance to meet him. “Would you care to join me? I’d be remiss to deprive myself of your company on the way back.”

Despite his words, a palpable hesitation rolled off him in waves. Ever uncertain was Aymeric, and Akira found he quite liked this about him. A high horse did not suit the elezen.

“Certainly.”

The Commander’s expression softened, as if he had somehow expected a rejection.

Night fell in wintry swaths over Ishgard while golden light spilled from manor windows and onto frost-kissed cobblestones. Gothic towers spiraled heavenward to brush the sky amidst snowflakes sweeping downward to powder the city. Once, Akira had glimpsed the tallest of them on chocoback in Coerthas. He never believed that he would one day be here, in a land closed off from Eorzea. Sometimes it all felt like the weaving of a powerful dream.

One he longed never to wake from.

Akira’s shoulders quivered as a breeze chewed through his robes. Aymeric, meanwhile, continued onward as if oblivious to the freezing temperatures slicking ice across the ground.

The blue glow of an aetheryte crystal snagged Akira’s attention.

“It’s been some time since I’ve last stretched my legs,” Aymeric mused as Akira started toward the transportation device. “This way, my friend.”

“Here I thought you missed your desk,” Akira teased him.

Overhead stretched an indigo canvas studded with stars whose names Akira knew intrinsically. He shared them with his Lord Commander, relishing in the delight writ clear upon his face as he successfully memorized a few.

In return, Aymeric pointed out parts of the city to him. One in particular caused a sheepish note to color his vocal cords and Akira insisted he share whatever it was with him. He explained that many years ago, he’d interrupted Estinien’s training by accidentally spooking his horse and sending it galloping throughout the city like a dragon snapping at its hooves. The Dragoon calmed the beast down after it succeeded in upending two market stalls and had nearly bowled over a woman in the street. 

Overcome with guilt, Aymeric attempted to make up for the blunder with a night of drinking - a night which did not bode well for him as he could not hold his liquor.

“That sounds like you,” Akira laughed. “How you manage formal gatherings is a mystery. Yet another secret to unravel.”

“Ah, I’m afraid my secrets are none too interesting,” he laughed. 

Rounding a corner, Akira recognized the slope leading up to the Lord Commander’s manor. The path was bathed in the effulgent glow of a nearby aetheryte crystal, rippling like ocean waves on the seabed. He couldn’t believe how quickly they’d made it to their destination. 

Boots clacking on the front steps, the Warrior of Light fought against the glum mood needling through him. 

Pausing with one hand on the door handle, Aymeric spoke up. “Speaking of secrets, how about you tell me one of yours?”

The Warrior of Light started. “What sort are you interested in?”

To Akira’s surprise, his Lord Commander pivoted on his heel to look directly at him. He was a study in moonlight, his glacial gaze limned silver and his ebony locks curling like fine spools of silk around his cheekbones. 

“What do you want for yourself?”

Akira’s mouth went dry. The elezen had asked him this same question. But the Warrior of Light’s interests came second to the world’s. 

“There’s nothing I want.”

“No one is immune to desires of the heart.”

Wetting his lips, Akira shrugged. “I have no choice.”

Slowly, Aymeric nodded. As if trying to comprehend a fate Akira was only now beginning to understand himself.

“Spoken as the Warrior himself would,” he murmured. “Though I’m inclined to believe you’re not as steadfast as you believe. After all, a part of you will always find favorites in some thing or another.” An indecipherable glint sparked in Aymeric’s eyes, igniting a yearning within Akira’s breast.

A chill spider-walked up his spine. “What did the Count tell you?” Akira asked, struggling to keep his emotions in check. 

A low chuckle rumbled deep in Aymeric’s throat. “Only that our Warrior of Light is intent on wearing himself out come war or peace. And if I may be so bold, my friend, I’d agree with his sentiments.”

He couldn’t argue him there. “Says the workaholic,” he smirked.

For one long moment, Aymeric stared at him. Then he dissolved into laughter, the corners of his eyes crinkling and a rather distracting dimple etching itself into a cheek.

“Yes, indeed.” He stepped closer, letting go of the door handle. “Sleep is hard to come by when your mind is whirling with questions. Many of which you leave to the imagination. Do you think to drive me mad, I wonder?”

Akira swallowed, trying in vain to keep himself together, knowing full well the seams were beginning to tear. It was difficult not to fall apart when Ser Aymeric explicitly expressed how he wished for his company, for a Gil for his thoughts. He wasn’t supposed to want the same thing - he wasn’t supposed to want, period. Doing so could distract him from what mattered most: protecting the world and carrying out Hydaelyn’s will.

“I’ve been found out,” he sighed, unable to shimmy out of the situation. Wicked white, Aymeric was like a poison. A sweet, succulent one. “Alright. Ask what you would like.” 

“A tempting proposition.” Aymeric’s hand moved, reaching behind the Warrior of Light to rest against the door. His fingers splayed out, the graze of his skin hot against Akira’s pointed ear. The shock of it froze him to the spot and Aymeric took advantage of his momentary lapse to step closer, corralling Akira against the wood. His other hand brushed against his waist to grip the door handle again. “And one you won’t wriggle out of this time.”

His tone was a mischievous dulcet, an invitation for him to play along. And though the both of them understood that Akira could send him flying with a snap of his fingers, Aymeric left room for Akira to do precisely what he said he wouldn’t allow himself.

_ "What do you want for yourself?" _

Akira was always forced to make many difficult choices. It came with the territory of his job. And while it would be folly to claim this was among them, it did place him in a predicament.

Rolling back his shoulders, Akira met the other elezen’s gaze head on. “You must be very curious about whatever you mean to learn.”

“Settling for one inquiry might result in more questions than I can scarce begin to list,” he murmured, inching closer. His breath skated hot across Akira’s mouth. 

“Oh?” Akira trembled. 

“I suppose the first will have to be when you intend on having a second drink with me? And should you agree, how best to make use of that desk of mine.”

The Warrior of Light leaned into his warmth. “Your desk will never see a day without papers cluttering its surface.”

“Then what would you suggest?” A devilish smirk revealed gleaming white teeth.

Akira didn’t think. His fingers curled into the soft fur of Aymeric’s overcoat, tugging him closer. “I have an idea or two,” he said into his ear. 

To his surprise, a faint bloom of pink dusted across the Lord Commander’s cheeks. “Wait - you’re saying you’ll get drinks with me?”

“How could I say no?”

“You’ve refused a second invitation,” he grumbled, letting Akira wind his arms around his neck. He blinked, as if confused to see the Warrior of Light’s face so close to his own. 

Akira shrugged, sloughing off any indecisiveness on his end. “You asked me before what I wanted for myself, didn’t you?” He tried not to laugh at how quickly Aymeric shifted from dangerously seductive to profound uncertainty. He knew the feeling all too well. 

The Lord Commander’s gaze scanned his face, searching for any hint of hesitation. “So I did.” 

“Now are you going to continue with what you were doing before?” Akira raised an eyebrow expectantly at him.

Delight gleamed in Aymeric’s glacial gaze before raven lashes fluttered closed. Their noses bumped once in the dim lighting and clouds of breath met a heartbeat before their lips did. Fingers curled into hair, knuckles brushed against earlobes and heat warmed them hotter than any fire.

A small click sounded and Akira broke away to see Aymeric opening the door with one hand. His other pressed into the small of his back, pulling him flush against him. “How about drinks?” he said before leaning in to steal another kiss. He nipped gently on his bottom lip, igniting something almost primal within Akira.

He wondered if he could be tempered by an elezen. 

“The desk sounds good too,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you for reading! Hit that kudos for your thirsty writer if you like.


End file.
